Aperture
by varietyofwords
Summary: Chuck and Blair. Post-finale. "In optics, an aperture is a hole or an opening through which light travels. In photography, if an aperture is narrow, then highly collimated rays are admitted, resulting in a sharp focus." A series of oneshots covering the photographs of Henry seen in the Bass townhouse.
1. Part One

**Author's Note:** This series of oneshots will cover the photographs of Henry seen in the Bass townhouse during the flash-forward. It also, hopefully, fulfills the prompt submitted by Dani (MissCMorland) of "taking pictures".

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The hands of the clock tick loudly, counting down the seconds to the next minute that puts her closer and closer to being late. She watches them impatiently out of the corner of her eye, watches for a moment when she can jump into this conference call with her distributer and end the conversation. But the man on the other end of the line continues to drone on and on, and her assistant timidly poking her head into her office to remind her of tardiness is unnecessary. An agitation on patience already tested and worn thin by a long and trying day.

One more glance at the clock, one more minute where the hands move dangerously towards the cutoff time, and she decides that enough is enough. She musters up her cutting bark of dismissal, hangs up the phone before the distributor has time to protest, and sends her assistant scurrying to fetch her purse and coat. Her computer and the pile of papers spread before her are abandoned without a second glance. Only her BlackBerry is plucked from the desk before she leaves, before she hurries out of the atelier towards the car waiting for her curbside.

She rushes the driver along, yells "Vite! Vite!" at him when he tries to slow at a light changing from green to yellow all the while checking the clock on her phone and tapping her foot impatiently. The drive takes longer than normal, and her impatience mounts as the car rounds the corner and turns down her street. The driver stops two houses down from hers, apologizes for the inconvenience with a gesture towards the limo blocking the spot in front of her townhouse. And although he waits for her huff of annoying, nothing comes because a twisted smile crosses her lips instead, because a game has been set and the first move to be made is hers.

She throws open the door to the car just as the driver's door of the limo opens, just as the driver she knows well begins to round the vehicle. She rushes past him, watches with a determined look as the driver opens the door and the male occupant spots her fumbling with the locks on the front door.

He catches the front door before she can shut it behind her, and his eyes narrow with the accusation that she did it on purpose. But she pays him no mind, concentrates on unbuckling the strap of her shoes and dropping them on the marble floor with a thud beside her purse.

He is, of course, faster than her, and he slips and slides in his striped stocking feet as he hurries up the stairs. The gap between them thanks to his head start is quickly closed, however, and she is right behind him as he rounds the second flight of stairs.

"You're late," she hisses in accusation.

"So are you," he retorts. He peels off his suit coat, drapes it over the banister and she does the same with her own coat; the dark green adding color to the gray of his coat and the brown on the banister. Their feet pound against the stairs as he tugs on his bowtie, as she snakes her hand behind her back and pulls on her zipper. He's nearly halfway up the third flight of stairs when she calls out to him, when she turns around and exposes the creamy white skin of her bare back to his gaze.

"My zipper's stuck," she informs him. And then she turns her head to look over her shoulder, offers him an innocent smile as the fabric falls from her shoulder and her hair sweeps to the side. "Can you help me?"

He knows immediately that it is a trick, that she is trying to gain the upper hand. Because she will shimmy out of her dress and dart up the stairs just as soon as he pulls down that zipper. Because she plays dirty and will stop at nothing to be victorious. But that patch of bare skin, the exposure of the spot where her neck slopes and joins her shoulder blades is more than just a siren's call, and he answers it even as he knows the costs and consequences of his decisions.

He tries to hedge his bet by placing one hand about her waist, by holding her steady as he pulls down the zipper. But the fact that the zipper does not snag, that she whirls out of his embrace and hurries up the stairs clearly casts him as the loser in this competition. He'll think of his punishment for her, his retribution for her treachery later because, for now, he turns on his heels and hurries after her up the final flight of stairs to the fourth floor.

The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled to his elbows. The purple robe draped over the banister in preparation of her arrival is wrapped around her and tied at the waist. A process that slowed her down just long enough for him to catch up and meet her as she push open the door to their destination.

"Dorota, put that baby down."

His wife's harsh instruction startles the maid, and she turns on around to offer up an explanation. But words about how they were late, how Mister Henry is supposed to have his bath now are lost amongst the sound of running water and eyes trained solely upon the baby in her arms. And Blair gleefully takes her son into her arms and presses a kiss against his temple as she murmurs and coos at him, as she not so subtly admonishes the maid for daring to think and suggest that she could forget about her baby in her words of greeting to the baby in her arms.

"We'll take it from here, Dorota," Chuck replies as he gathers the baby shampoo and bubble bath from the bathroom cabinet and heads towards the tub.

The maid abandons the bathroom, heads out the door and down the stairs to collect the shoes and clothes her employers have abandoned in their haste to make it in time. An incident involving shampoo and hand woven silk means neither are inclined to wear their clothes during such a messy and wet encounter as this.

As the door shuts quietly behind her, Chuck moves to check the temperature of the water, plunging his bare arm into the tub in order to make sure it is neither too cold nor too hot. And when he is done fiddling with the taps, when the water is just the right temperature, he pours just a tiny amount of bubble bath into the water and flicks off the faucet when the bathtub begins to fill with suds that glint and shine in the bright light.

"Here," he says as he stands and moves towards his wife. She passes the baby into his outstretched hands, works on undoing the fastening of Henry's diaper while Chuck greets his son and presses kisses against the cowlick in the baby's hair. "Hello, Henry. I missed you."

The little boy kicks his legs, happy to be free from the confines of his diaper and happier still to be back in his parents' arms. He reaches out and snags his fingers on Chuck's lips; laughs loudly when his father pretends to munch them. His mother joins in on the fun, blowing a loud kiss on his belly that sends him into fit of giggles.

And his giggles turn into a shriek of sheer delight when his father slips his naked, little body into the tab. He shrieks as he pats the water, as he kicks his feet and watches them through blue water. The mesh bag of toys suction cupped to the wall of the tub is opened, and the blue ball, stack of baby-sized cups, and assortment of rubber duckies come cascading into the water to Henry's obvious delight. Blair pours a dollop of shampoo into the palm of her hand and lathers it into his scalp whilst Chuck soaps up a washcloth and runs it softly over the rolls of baby fat on his arms and legs.

"You were late," she says sadly over Henry's exclamations of excitement.

"So were you," he replies softly. The accusations from before have melted away, given way to sadness and sorrow over how a minute of tardiness can so easily stretch into five, into ten, into coming home only to find that Dorota has already bathed the baby and rocked him to sleep. And, tonight, they both came so close to repeating that mistake.

"We said he was always going to come first," she reminds her husband as she snatches one of those primary colored, stackable cups from the water. She fills it with water, waits for Chuck to place his hand over Henry's eyes before dumping it on his head and rinsing out all the shampoo from his brown hair. "That Henry would take precedent over everything else."

"He does," Chuck quickly retorts, reaching out to touch his wife's chin with soapy, wet hands and gently pull her attention to him. "We're here. We're giving our son a bath and, afterwards, you'll feed him and I will rock him to sleep. And we're going to continue to do our best, to be here for him like our parents weren't."

"Bart Bass didn't give bubble baths."

"No, and neither did Eleanor Waldorf."

The splash of water hitting their faces interrupts them, dragging their gaze from one another to the baby laughing and playing in the water. Henry's eyes are wide and shine with happiness as he slams his hands on the white and blue toy hanging from the faucet, as he moves his arms and legs through the bubbles in the water. His mouth is wide. His tongue out in his happy, toothless grin and his father fumbles for the phone in his pocket.

Chuck launches the camera, holds it steady as Blair calls out the little boy's name and bids him to look at them. And when he does, when his father captures his moment of sheer delight in the tub, his mother leans over and press a kiss against his open mouth because a tiny bit of soap and water doesn't matter when her world is sitting in front of her right now, when her world is so clearly and stunningly in focus.


	2. Part Two

The world morphs from streaks of red and yellow to sharp and crisp in its Technicolor as he slows from an all-out sprint to a jog. The muscles in his legs tighten and howl and scream with every step as his feet pound against the pavement, as he shakes off the thick layer of dirt that would have existed on his running shoes were it not for the meticulous cleanings performed by the Empire's housekeeping staff. The crispness of the autumn air convinces him that he can complete another lap around the reservoir, and he begins to speed up his moments when the leash dangling from his wrist tangles around his legs, when his running shoes come slamming down onto uneven ground as he tries to find his balance.

A yelp of pain causes him to stop immediately, to cast a long look at the dog standing at his side. He squats down – his calves screaming in protest – and gingerly touches the paw his canine running partner has lifted off the ground and tucked against his chest. The dog hesitates; the look on his face more expressive than one would normally expect from an animal.

"Sorry, Monkey," Nate says as he pats the dog's head in apology. Yet it is only when his fingers slide to that spot behind Monkey's left ear, when his nails scratch and Monkey's tail begins to wag his body in sheer delight that the dog appears to have forgiven him.

"Hello, handsome!"

His gaze shifts from the dog to find a blonde woman standing before him, and, admittedly, a part of him expects to see her attention directed at him. It's happened before, although not normally during the middle of a weekday on a jog through Central Park. Yet her attention is directed away from, and she is bent at the waist peering into the red jogging stroller parked in front of him. He stands – calves still screaming in protest – and flicks back the visor of the stroller just in time to see the woman reach out to squeeze the plump cheek of the stroller's occupant.

The lunge of the dog catches Nate off-guard, snapping his wrist in a way that makes him grimace as he tries to reign Monkey back just in time. The dog's low growl causes the blonde to freeze in her movements towards Henry, to shoot Nate a dirty look over Monkey's inhospitality as though he is in the wrong here.

"Sorry," he apologizes as he jerks Monkey back once more, as he motions for the dog to sit. "He's a bit territorial about Henry."

"Henry," the blonde repeats as she reaches out and squeezes Henry's cheek. The little boy turns his head away from her wandering hand in a rejection of her affection, allowing the blue hood of his lightweight jacket to covering his cheeks and protect them from her atention. And yet the woman is undeterred, using the opening afford to her by the introduction to make her own. "What a cute name for a cute little boy. My name's Julie. It's nice to meet you, Hen."

And Nate involuntarily winces at the nickname she has chosen for his godson. Chuck and Blair have drilled it into their friends and family that their son is not to be referred to as poultry. It's Henry Bass and nothing else because, as Blair would say, one species in a name per person is enough.

"Why so sad? Don't you enjoy going for a run, Hen?"

"Yeah," Nate says after admonishing the dog to sit once more. "I think he's just missing his mom."

The woman stands and her eyes immediately dart to his ring finger, dart to confirm the absence of a band of metal around his finger. The slyness of her gesture is lost when she stands just a little bit taller, when she flips back her long blonde hair and juts her chest forward.

"Divorce can be so hard on children," she replies in a voice dripping with false sincerity.

"No, um, I'm not divorced."

"Exs co-parenting can also be a challenge," she states, but the hopefulness of her tone is betrayed by the way her voice drops and trails off. "Unless you're still tog—"

"I'm not with his mom," Nate interjects. "I mean, I was but Blair's—this is my godson."

"Oh," the blonde replies as the smile returns to her face. And months ago he would have introduced himself, would have engaged her in a conversation that would have been simple and light and ended with her number saved in his phone.

Today, however, his attention is directed elsewhere, directed at the little boy sitting in his stroller and staring back up at his uncle. Henry has pressed his body to the far side of his stroller as though he wants to get as far away as possible, and the disappointed look on his face screams that he cannot believe his uncle would engage with a member of the proletariat.

The phone buzzing in his pocket distracts him for a moment; the name of caller making his acceptance of the call an urgent matter. And he fumbles with the device as he makes his apologizes in a way that only he can, in a way that allows him to slip away without hurt feelings. He pushes the stroller down the path along with reservoir with Monkey walking happily beside it, and he answers the call just as soon as he is out of earshot.

"Hey," he greets and then he listens. His brow furrows with each word, with the turn of the stroller and the change in their direction. The blanket tucked around Henry's legs falls to the ground, and he holds the phone to his ear as he stops to pick it, as he shakes off the dirt and leaves. Nate ends the call when he moves to the front of the stroller to return it the little boy, when he sees the disgruntled expression has not left Henry's face.

The picture he takes with his camera phone is blurry, shaky with his laughter at how the little boy seated before him is perfect mix of his parents because only the child of Chuck and Blair would have mastered this look of disappointment and derision and boredom at such a young age. And he promises the little boy that they are headed home now as he tucks the blanket back around Henyr's legs and adjusts the hood of his blue jacket in order to ward off the chill of the early autumn air.

Henry sits up straighter and Nate laughs again at his eagerness, at the way even Monkey seems to perk up and trot at their change in direction. The residential streets he pushes Henry's stroller down are nearly empty save for the nannies accompanying their charges to the park, and he might have been inclined to take a leisurely pace back to the townhouse were it not for the way Henry leans forward eagerly the closer and closer they are to his home.

He pushes open the front door, prepares to call out and announce their arrival when the soft strands of an all too familiar song reach his ears. He immediately lets the leash in his hands go, and Monkey runs up the stairs in a zealous search for his master. Nate shuts the door behind them and pushes the stroller towards the staircase. Arms stretched upward and outward, Henry whimpers for Nate to pick him up, for Nate to lift him out of the stroller and carry him upstairs.

"Hold on, Henry," Nate says with a laugh as he fumbles with the seatbelt around Henry's waist and shoulders. "This seatbelt might be child-proof but it's also kind of Uncle Nate-proof."

He lifts the little boy out of his seat, juts out one hip to offer Henry a place to sit, but Henry squirms and whimpers until his uncle places him on the floor. His new favorite activity is climbing up and down the stairs, and he is not about to be denied this pleasure today.

Nate hoovers closely behind him with arms outstretched to catch him. But Henry extends his arms out on the step in front of him and then stands on shaky legs before sliding his knees up and over the steps. It's a process that he repeats over and over again with a determined look, shoving off Nate's hands when he slides down a step or two. He reaches the top step, grabs onto the gate installed between the landing of the second floor and the stairs, and shrieks in delight when he sees his parents in the living room.

His parents look towards him and the depressing fog of the room is lifted for just a moment at his appearance. His father stands from his seat, making sure to prop a pillow under Blair's head as a substitute for his lap before striding over to them. The baby gate is swung open and Henry is swung up into the air.

"Did you climb up all by yourself?" Chuck says as he tickles Henry's belly, as he sends the little boy into a cascade of giggles. "Look how amazing you are. Good job, Henry."

Henry claps his hands together in applause for himself and beams when his father and uncle join in the celebration of just how amazing he is for climbing up the stairs without assistance. He squirms to be placed back on the floor after a moment, happily crawling over to where his mother lies curled on the couch across the room from him.

And she smiles at him, praises him for how strong he is when he pulls himself up into a standing position with the assistance of the couch cushions. Her left hand drops to push back the hood of his blue jacket, to sweep his hair from his eyes, and he stands and bounces and babbles before her. Her eyes are lighter and happier as she looks at him, as she moves the line to the IV secured in the crook of her arm out his reach.

"How is she?" Nate asks in a soft whisper as his eyes skirt from the scene before him to the scene playing out the laptop lying on the coffee table before him.

"Trying to be perfect. The doctor says she needs to stop putting so much pressure on herself and relax," Chuck replies before informing his friend that they are on their second viewing of _Tiffany's_ because, as they both know, the film is one of the few that can get Blair to sit still long enough to rest. His shoulders sag just a little bit, just enough that Nate reaches out and pats him on the back in silent support, in a reminder that he is there for them both.

"Thank you for taking Henry and Monkey this morning. They needed to get out of the house but I didn't want to leave—"

His voice trails off as he looks at his wife, as he looks at the tired woman curled up on the couch. Henry wobbles on shaky legs as he pets his mother's hair, as he presses open mouth kisses against her lips and nose and cheeks with a shriek.

"You know I'm always happy to spend time with him. Monkey, too," Nate replies. "Besides he is too much like you and Blair already. I kept waiting for him to tell me to stop wasting my time with the masses."

Chuck looks at him as though he is crazy, as though he has lost his mind, and Nate fumbles with his phone in order to pull up the photo he snapped earlier. He passes the phone to his best friend, watches as Chuck's lips pull into a smile and then a laugh as Nate explains the events of their morning.

"That's not me," Chuck protests. "That's definitely an expression he inherited from Blair."

"What did Henry inherit from me?" Blair questions from the couch as she pushes herself into the seated position. Her movements tax her just enough for it be noticeable, for her husband's smile to drop from his face. But she waves away his concern as she picks up Henry and settles him on her lap. He curls into her embrace, reaching out to grab a locket of her hair as though it might serve as a tether to tie them together.

"Here," Chuck replies, striding across the room and passing her the phone. Blair smiles at the image – her first real smile of the day – and laughs at the story – her first real laugh of the morning.

"Well, at least I don't have to worry about Henry going after inappropriate women like his father and uncle," Blair hums as she passes him back the phone and looks down at the little boy curled up in her arms. She taps his nose in tender affection, in a move that makes him smile as he buries his face further into her chest. "Isn't that right, Henry? You know quality when you see it."


	3. Part Three

**Author's Note: **I received a few reviews expressing concern for Blair in the second part of this story. To clarify, Blair was suffering from the same exhaustion she experienced in 6x07. Trying to be the perfect mother (Part One) and the perfect businesswoman can be draining.

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The gooey, white mixture is spread and splattered into her long blonde hair as tiny hands pat against her back and he declares his work to be all done. His mother thanks him as she flips to the next page of the magazine draped across her lap, and he beams at her praise for a job well done, thrusts his hands under her gaze in an offer to spread sunscreen across her back, too. The white goop drops onto the pages of the most recent edition of _Vogue_, and the little boy frowns at the mess he has made.

"Sorry, Mommy," he apologizes. His mother sets the magazine aside on the empty pool lounger to her left, and she snags the blue beach towel draped behind her before proceeding to wipe off his hands.

"Just be more careful next time, okay, Henry?"

"Okay, Mommy," Henry replies, dropping his freshly cleaned left hand to his side. "No sunscreen for you?"

"Daddy already gave Mommy a comprehensive covering of sunscreen this morning," Blair informs him as she moves to clean off his right hand. Her eyes drift over his head, drift over to her best friend with a suggestive gleam in her eyes that causes the blonde to blanch and roll her eyes in disgust.

"Why don't you go see what's taking Daddy and Uncle Nate so long?"

The little boy agrees with a nod of his head, runs off towards the house and only slows when his mother reminds him to be careful around the pool. When he is out of earshot, his mother drapes her legs over the edge of the lounge chair and gestures for her best friend to turn around as she moves to sit. Serena raises her brows in question but follows her best friend's instructions. She sweeps her long blonde hair to the side and turns around to expose her back to Blair. The brunette laughs as she wipes off the excess sunscreen with the towel, laughs at the handprints left stamped across Serena's back in white.

"I learned the hard way that Henry is not nearly as thorough at applying sunscreen as Chuck is."

Blair reaches for the bottle of sunscreen in order to cover the spots Henry missed, frowns when her hand finds only air where the bottle should be on the table between her and Serena. And she stands, hurries after Henry through the open doors into her summer home; her eyes darting across the backyard to the living room and then down the long hallway to the kitchen.

She spies Henry sitting on his heels next to Monkey poised with the open bottle of sunscreen in his hand ready to squirt the substance all over Monkey's exposed belly. Yet the little boy is scooped up into his father's arms before she can reach him and stop him, cutting off his actions and sending him into a shriek of laughter. His father asks him what he is up to, tickling him mercilessly until the little boy laughs and wheezes out his answer.

"Monkey needs 'tection from the sun, too."

"Monkey has fur to protect him from the sun," his father reminds him. "You don't put sunscreen in your hair, do you, silly boy?"

"No," Henry replies, drawing out the final syllable into his infectious laugh. He throws his head back in his glee, spies his mother standing and watching them in the doorframe. "Mommy!"

He wiggles in his father's arms, runs towards his mother when his feet are placed back on the floor. Henry tugs on Blair's hand, exclaims that he found Daddy and can they please go swimming now. Blair smiles indulgently, sweeping back his brown hair from his forehead before nodding her head and sending the little boy running off in excitement towards the pool.

He slows only when his parents yell for him to be careful around the pool, walking with an exaggerated slowness and pausing at the open door to the patio to call out for his best friend to join him. Monkey scrambles to stand; nails scrapping against the floor as he hurries out the door to follow his youngest owner.

Chuck's hands reach out to snag his wife's waist, to spin her around and entice her to stay with him for just a little while longer. Blair runs her hands up her husband's chest, loops them around his neck, and runs her fingertips along the spot where the collar of his green and white striped shirt meets his skin. He drops his head, pushing back the brim of his hat in the process and planting a kiss against the spot on her neck where the strap of her swimsuit rests in greeting.

"Serena outside?" He murmurs against her skin, and she moving her head just slightly to the right to afford him better access to his kryptonite as she replies that Serena is, in fact, sunning herself outside. "Good. She can watch Henry. I need a moment with my wife. She wasn't in my bed last night."

"That's because," she replies with a teasing smirk, "it was far too crowded with your little sleepover with Nate, Henry, and Monkey."

"We weren't having a sleepover," he corrects. "We were having a Lost Weekend in your absence."

"And do you always invite four-year-olds to your Lost Weekends?" She questions and then her eyes darken as she reaches out to snag his jaw in her hand, hold him steady, and force him to look her in the eye. "You better not be teaching my little boy to drink scotch and debase himself with loose women."

He looks away as a smirk settles on his face, as he laughs softly at her suggestion. His right hand moves from her hips to her left arm, trailing fingers up and down her bare arm until goosebumps pebble across her skin and her fiery heat morphs into a different form all together.

"We all had tall glasses of organic milk and watched old Batman movies until bedtime," he replies with a chuckle. "Besides, I had to invite him. He was quite upset that his mother was having a girls-only sleepover."

His thumb slides over her elbow, strokes lightly as he tries to assure his wife that she did the right thing in spending the evening consoling Serena through yet another breakup. And she smiles at him softly, knows that she can take a night for her friendship and still be a wonderful mother.

"And how is my sister?" Chuck asks gently.

"Still mourning Dan Humphrey," Blair replies with a huff. "I did save her from Henry's attempts at applying sunscreen. I figured mourning a Humphrey is lame enough without Henry's handprints running up and down her spine."

And Chuck frowns at the memory of the last time when he had joined his family for a short vacation in the Hamptons. He had arrived after a long day of meetings to found Blair lounging poolside with Henry's handprints burnt into her back from where the little boy had forgotten to rub the sunscreen in. Blair had been forced to wear dresses covering every inch of her skin to shield herself from the sun and the judgment of others for the rest of the week, making for a rather miserable vacation for him and her.

"We'll work on proper sunscreen application during our next Lost Weekend," Chuck promises as he moves to finger the band of her bathing suit, to slip his fingers inside and stroke the soft skin at the underside of her breast. "For now, though, let's reserve that role for me."

"There are other people in this house," Nate informs them as he saunters into the kitchen. His swimsuit is swung low on his hips, and he rolls his eyes as Chuck and Blair both glare at him for the interruption. "Dan's waiting for you at the front door, Blair."

"Dan?" Chuck echoes in question

Blair extracts herself from her husband's embrace and offers him a smirk that he knows all too well – the kind of smirk that lets him know her plan is falling into place – before sashaying out of the room towards the front door to find Dan. Hands jammed into his pockets, Dan eyes her white and green swimsuit suspiciously as she welcomes him to the Hamptons.

"What am I doing here, Blair? You are obviously not having a party with the best literary agents in New York."

"Obviously," Blair repeats in a somewhat mocking tone. "You are here for one of those grand romantic gestures you Humphreys are known for."

"Excuse me?"

Blair's eyes narrow at his confusion, and she huffs her annoyance as she steps closer towards him. She reminds Dan that Serena decided long ago he is the love of her life, that she forgave him for the articles his posted and the website he ran. Reminds him that this back and forth game of 'he loves me, he loves me not' is starting to grate on everyone, especially Blair who spent last night consoling her best friend one more.

"So go outside, put all your chips on the table, and figure this out once and for all."

Dan's protests are silenced by Blair's murderous glare; by the way she grabs his arm and drags him towards the living room and the patio doors. She leaves him standing on the stone patio as she makes her way to the pool. Her husband sits on the edge of the pool, feet dangling off the edge into the water as he watches their little boy swim laps around his Uncle Nate.

"I know that is not a dog in my pool, Chuck," she snaps at her husband as she moves down the steps and into water. Chuck's gaze darts towards the dog currently paddling around in the deep end of the pool, and he slides into the water to help assist Monkey out at his wife's reminder of her strict no dogs rule.

"But, Mommy," Henry protests as he swims over to his mother. He stares up at her through the blue and green goggles on his face; the color tinting of the lenses obscuring his sad little eyes from her gaze. "Monkey likes to go swimming, too."

"Monkey also likes to terrorize the ducks at the duck pond," Blair replies as she moves further into the water, slides her hands under Henry's arms, and drags him to sit on her hip. "We can't let him do everything he likes, can we?"

"Just this once?" He whispers as he snakes his arms around her neck and presses a wet kiss against her cheek. Blair laughs at how he tries to deploy his father's tools of distraction, but she will not budge on this issue. Just this once has already turned into Monkey being allowed to sit on the couch in the living room and sleep in the bed she shares with her husband.

"You and Daddy can give Monkey a bath later," she promises as she watches her husband rubbing a soaking wet Monkey dry with a towel.

Blair slides her gaze across the backyard to see Dan and Serena conversing in low tones on the lounge chairs under the pergola. The peak in Serena's voice attracts the attention of everyone outdoors, and Henry slips out of his mother's embrace and swims towards the stairs.

"Henry," his mother bids after his retreating form, "where are you going?"

Henry holds a lone index finger to his lips, gesturing for his mother to be quiet so as to not interrupt his stealthy approach towards his aunt and Humphrey. He creeps slowly across the stone patio, pushes his goggles to the top of his head as he moves to hide behind one the pergola's columns and watch intently.

He listens as words likes 'love' and 'us' and 'forever' are thrown out, peeks around the column when their voices drop to a volume he cannot hear. The puddle forming under his feet from his dripping wet bathing suit causes him to slip as he shifts his balance, and he scrambles to grab onto the column to keep him falling. The panickymovement, however, betrays his location, and both Serena and Dan turn to look at him.

"What are you doing, Henry?" Serena questions, and the little boy glances about as he searches for an excuse. His eyes land on the phone his mother abandoned on her lounge chair, and he rushes forward to snatch it off the chair and hold it up to his aunt.

"Take my picture?"

Henry plops down on the lounge chair when his aunt takes the phone from him, wrapping his arms around his legs and smiling up at her. As soon as the picture is taken and after he offers his approval of the image she shows to him, he takes off running back to the pool. He slows only when every adult yells at him to be careful around the pool and takes the steps with exaggerated caution before splashing into the water and launching himself into his mother's arms.

"Hump-fee loves Auntie Serena," he informs Blair in an excited voice that is far above the required whisper for such a stealthy undertaking. "I spied and I heard him."


	4. Part Four

The map held in front of his face muddles his voice causing his question to become lost amongst the chatter of the crowded limo. The little boy drops the map to his lap with a sigh and tugs at the crinkled piece of paper so it lays neatly in his lap before repeating his question a little louder, a little more forceful this time. He earns not just the attention of the one he wants to talk to but also the attention of every occupant of his daddy's limo as those gathered twist in their seats to listen to what he has to say.

"Uncle Nate, do you like snakes?"

Nate shifts in his seat as he considers the question and fails to avoid bumping his long legs into Serena's or his shoulder into Henry's carseat as he moves around. He had planned to ride in the town car with Serena and Dan from their apartment, but his nephew threw a fit demanding that everyone ride in the limo because this is his special outing and he makes the rules.

"Uh, they're okay," Nate replies as he traces his thumb around the rim of his disposable coffee cup. "A little creepy, don't you think, Henry?"

Henry's features crinkle in confusion over the question, and then he emphatically shakes his head in a rejection of Nate's words because, no, snakes are not creepy. Slithering and stealthy, they are nature's best schemers. At least, that's what his daddy says, and Henry passes along Chuck's words to Nate as though they are the indisputable truth.

"My mommy likes snakes, too," Henry informs Nate, and the older man's eyes slide down the crowded limo to glance at Blair, took at the women sitting with perfect posture and nary a hair out of place. But the faltering of Henry's smile catches Nate's attention, and the little boy corrects his statement in a low voice almost like he's divulging a secret.

"Well, only one kind a snake. A special snake that daddy got her that I'm not allowed to play with," Henry adds with a pout as he folds his arm across his chest. "And Mommy screams with she plays with it so I don't think she actually likes snakes like Daddy does."

"Ugh, Blair," Serena says with a crinkle of her noise and a roll of her eyes. The rest of the limo's occupants shift uncomfortably at the innuendos Henry innocently passed along, and Nate's eyes immediately snap towards the couple seated at the far end of the limo against the door, snap to see Chuck's small smirk fall off his face as his wife elbows him in the chest.

Hard.

Blair tries to look aghast at Henry's words as her husband grimaces; tries to hide that devious sparkle behind her eye as her husband chuckles darkly in her ear and whispers about the reptile house being a must see attraction. Henry, however, seems unfazed by the reaction his words garnished having become accustomed to this over the years. His daddy loves his mommy's pie and his mommy loves his daddy's limo, and Henry doesn't understand why the adults in his life act like there is something so wrong about that.

"What's your favorite animal, Uncle Nate?"

"Uh, giraffes, I guess," Nate replies before taking a drink from his coffee cup, and Henry beams at his reply as he races to point out on the map just where the giraffes live. He excitedly explains how he and his mommy printed out the map last night, how they decided the order in which they would visit the animals, and then in a sadder, quieter tone about how the map is wrong because there's a picture of an elephant but no elephants actually live at the zoo.

"Mommy and I called, and the zoo people said that ellie-pants need big families to be happy," Henry informs his uncle. "No lonely boy ellie-pants."

"Blair," the soon-to-be Mister and Mrs. Humphrey chastise in unison.

"Out of the mouth of babes," Blair scoffs in reply before turning her attention to her son and correcting his pronunciation. "It's elephants, Henry. Not ellie-pants."

"That's what I said," Henry huffs sinking into his seat and raising the map to hide his face. The little boy abhors being wrong almost as much as he hates being corrected, and he would have continued sulking where it not for Arthur lowering the partition and announcing their arrival.

Henry undoes the buckle of his carseat all by himself and scrambles over Nate's legs to be the first one out of the car. He bounces excitedly on the curb as his father helps his mother out of the car, as his mother adjusts the lacrosse t-shirt his Uncle Nate gave him that he chose to wear today.

(Originally, Henry picked out the same suit he is set to wear to Aunt Serena and Dan's wedding for his special outing, but the little boy changed his mind before their departure this morning when he discovered his father wearing a sweater over his button up shirt and his mother wearing pants. Casual wear in the world of Mister and Mrs. Bass.)

Henry tugs excitedly on his parents' hands when everyone is out of the limo, when his father finishes telling Arthur to return for them promptly at three o'clock. The first stop on their visit is the sea lions, and Henry is not about to miss the feeding just because Aunt Serena is perpetually running behind.

"Wait," Dan calls out. He holds up his phone motioning for the Basses to stand together for a picture, and the little boy sighs in frustration as he moves to stand with his parents to stand in front of the big sign announcing the entrance to the zoo. "I need photographic proof that Chuck and Blair were spotted in the Bronx."

"It's the zoo not the housing projects," Chuck replies, although it is not entirely clear if he offers up the reminder to Dan or to his wife. The couple walks towards the entrance of the zoo leaving the rest of their party to trail behind them. Henry walks between Chuck and Blair holding his parents' hands and animatedly reminding them of the plan for the day.

They head straight to the sea lions; Henry admonishing his aunt and uncles to hurry up or else they will miss the feeding. A small crowd as already formed around the railings, and Henry stands on his tiptoes to try and peer over an older child's head. And he starts to contemplate telling the kid to move because he's Henry Bass when his father scoops him up and places Henry on his shoulders. His daddy isn't as tall as his Uncle Nate, but from up here Henry feels like he is King of the World because no one is more powerful than his daddy.

(Except for his mommy, but Daddy says he isn't allowed to tell Mommy that because it will go to her head and she's already enough of a Queen B. Henry isn't quite sure what that means, although Aunt Serena calls his mommy Queen B when she is particularly upset so there's probably a reason why Daddy swore him to secrecy.)

The sea lions make funny noises when the zookeepers come out to feed them, and some of the children gathered around the railings copy their noises. Croaking and arfing so loudly and obnoxiously that Henry rolls his eyes and wishes they would all head to the children's zoo because he's much too mature for their antics.

But then one of sea lions nose dives off the highest rock into the water below and his eyes widen and he laughs in the amazement only a child seems to possess. And his parents' eyes connect and gleam as they smile over his wonderment, as they relish in how they are experiencing the childhood they never had through their little boy.

Their trip through the Madagascar enclosure is spent with Henry's face and hands pressed against the dirty glass as he watches the myriad of lemurs swing from tree limb to vine while Dan regales them all with a lecture on the causal effect of consumerism on deforestation. His wife manages to silence him halfway through his rant by flouncing happily through the exhibit and distracting him with her smiles dripping in sunshine.

And Serena being Serena, the blonde doesn't mind clutching Henry's now dirty hands as she leads him down the path to the tiger exhibit to see her favorite animal. She doesn't mind bending down on one jean-clad knee and trying to cajole the little boy into telling her what tigers say. And Henry gives in because his Aunt Serena is silly and fun, because she makes him laugh and loosen up just like she does for his mommy.

"Rawr!" Henry exclaims as he makes pouncing paws with this hands, and he erupts into a series of giggles when his Aunt Serena roars back at him, when she tickles him mercilessly with her hands as she too pretends to be a tiger.

And even Blair pretends to be a tiger for a moment; roaring so vociferously that the other families standing near the glass separating them from the tigers eye her as though she has completely lost her mind. But the poised young mother wearing expensive high heels to the zoo could care less in the moment because her son laughs boisterously as he roars back at her and attacks her with his pretend tiger paws.

The rest of the morning is spent watching the polar bear chase a ball across his enclosure, splashing in and out of the pool before he finally tucks the ball under his stomach and curls up to sleep with it. Dan is the one who suggests they break for lunch, but if he expected to see Chuck and Blair eat animal-shaped chicken nuggets and French fries, he is sorely disappointed to arrive at the picnic area and see Dorota spreading out a pressed tablecloth and preparing plates of food freshly prepared by the Basses' chef.

The astonishment in his voice as he questions Blair for having Dorota bring them lunch all the way from the Upper East Side is met with a peculiar look from Chuck because there aren't any appropriate restaurants within walking distance and from Blair because, of course, she is not going to subject her son to the horrors of processed food. And Dan – convinced that there is something wrong with a child who happily munches on spinach quiche when he could be eating French fries – leans over to his wife-to-be and makes her promise that should they ever have kids, the Humphrey clan will go to the zoo and eat animal-shaped, fried chicken nuggets.

"Can we start now?" Serena replies with a laugh, and Dan doesn't have to be told twice before he pulls his fiancée from the table and walks with her to the small food court. Nate tags along, dismissed by friends who know he would rather eat fries than quiche with them and who don't mind having a private moment with just their small family.

"We're going to see the butterflies while you eat," Henry announces when his aunt and uncles return with their food as his mother wipes down his hands with a wet wipe and Dorota gathers up their picnic lunch. "It's Mommy's favorite animal. It's sacred. Only for Basses."

Chuck and Blair's eyes connect over their son's head and maybe their son's rejection of his aunt and uncles is a little harsh, but they cannot help but smile over his insistence that butterflies are special. Because butterflies gave them Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck. Because butterflies beat their wings and never died, continued to flutter until they metamorphosed in the little boy standing before them.

The same little boy who watches in awe as a butterfly lands on his hand, as it beats its delicate wings against his skin. Who is far to enthralled to care that his father stands behind his mother, sweeps her brunette hair aside, and feathers kisses against her neck until he reaches her ear and can whisper in her ear.

"Still want to murder those butterflies?"

"Not a chance, Bass," Blair retorts as she spins around, and she smiles as she touches her fingers to Chuck's cheek to hold his gaze. "You know how much I adore all God's creatures."

The injection of happiness provided by the butterflies, however, dissipates over the course of the afternoon. The Humphreys and Nate join the Basses on a ride through Asia on the monorail and a walk through the African Plains portion of the zoo, but the extensive walking and excitement begins to take its toll on the little boy. Henry drags his feet, becomes nearly inconsolable by the time they head towards the giraffes.

"I think it's time we head home," Chuck announces when the giraffe enclosure is just in sight.

"No!" Henry shrieks ripping his hand out his father's and shying away from his father's grasp.

"Yes," Chuck replies in a firm voice before his wife steps in, before Blair announces that Henry didn't sleep well last night with the excitement of his special outing and probably needs a nap. The comment sets the little boy off, sends him collapsing the ground in an angry sob that he's not tired.

His aunt and uncles shift uncomfortably at the temptation to step in and console Henry yet know better than to undermine Chuck and Blair's parenting. Chuck reaches down, scoops a screaming and kicking Henry off the ground into his arms. He is about to tell Henry to knock it off, to tell Blair to call for Arthur to pick them up a little early when Henry wraps his arms around his father's neck and cries pitifully in his ear that the sun is too bright and his eyes hurt.

"Your eyes hurt?" Chuck echoes as he looks to his wife for backup.

With Blair as his mother and Chuck as his father, the little boy is quickly becoming a master schemer and manipulator. Of course, with Blair as his mother and Chuck as his father, he rarely gets away with his manipulation when it is directed at his parents. And while his parents have already had the conversation about how you don't manipulate those you respect and love with the little boy, Chuck isn't entirely sure if Henry is trying to pull one over on his parents.

But Blair seems genuinely concerned as she reaches out to pat Henry's back, reaches out to sweep the hair from his eyes and peer into his tear-filled eyes. Because some days when the sun is particularly bright her eyes will ache so badly that she finds herself rummaging through her purse for her sunglasses before a migraine can bloom. And she wonders if maybe this is hereditary, if Henry's eyes hurt because her eyes started to hurt halfway through the monorail ride until she slipped on her own sunglasses.

Her gazes moves to Dan and Nate prepared to send Nate to the gift shop and Dan out into the Bronx – having assumed that Dan would be able to fare better in the Bronx given his Brooklyn upbringing, of course – in search of sunglasses when her gaze lands on the sunglasses perched on the top of Nate's head. She's not entirely sure where he got them, figures they are left over from some visit to the outer boroughs to "explore" running for major.

But motherhood outweighs fashion today, and she very well demands Nate hand them over right now. She slips the sunglasses onto Henry's face, sweeps his unruly hair aside with a mental reminder to book him an appointment at the salon tomorrow, and watches as Henry's cries subside into small hiccups.

"Is that better, baby?"

"Yeah," Henry replies softly as his father rubs his back and tries to soothe him. The piercing glare of the sun is filtered, subdued just enough for him to be able to open his eyes wide again. The pounding in his head begins to recede, and Henry peers over his father's shoulder and past his mother to see the giraffe's head peeking around a tree at him.

"Can we go see the giraffes now?" Henry asks with a hiccup. "They're Uncle Nate's favorite."

His parents agree, and Chuck carries him over to the wooden bench arranged in front of the giraffe enclosure. Henry stands on the bench to watch and laughs at the giraffe's long tongue as it reaches to eat leaves off the top of this tree. He points out the giraffe to his Uncle Nate, asks innocently if that's why Uncle Nate likes giraffes so much.

"Who doesn't like a woman who knows how to use her tongue?"

Henry frowns at his father's comment because he doesn't understand what he means, but Aunt Serena just grimaces as she pulls her phone out of her bag and tells the little boy to sit so she can take his picture. He clambers down to sit on the wooden viewing platform, sits up a little straighter, and elongates his neck as he adjusts the sunglasses perched on his nose.

"Henry," Serena asks with a laugh, "what are you doing?"

"I'm being a giraffe for Uncle Nate, but it's hard. They don't roar like lions do."

Blair interjects into the conversation, suggests that Henry be Henry Bass for Mommy and Daddy. The little boy ponders the suggestion for a moment, and his eyes slide to look up at his father as he weights the pros and cons of being a giraffe or being Henry Bass.

"You're special enough on your own," Chuck reminds him, and sinks back to his natural posture and smiles up at the camera at his father's words. "You don't need to be a lion or a giraffe for Mommy and Daddy to love you."


	5. Part Five

**Author's Note: **As some of you already pointed out, the last chapter covered the last photograph of Henry we saw in the townhouse. This chapter – the final installment – covers what we did not get to see in the Bass townhouse or on any of the instagrams/twitters of the people who were there during filming. A photograph I think just about every Chair shipper wanted to see.

* * *

Soft laughter twitters through the air under the setting autumn sum and out the doors separating ceremony space from the reception. A joke is made at the expense of the groom and an unfortunate book title, and the roar of the laughter in reply causes the corners of his lips to lift into a smile because, occasionally, Nathaniel can be witty.

The roar causes the little boy curled in his lap to stir as the exhausted part of him fights with the part yearning to rejoin the party. He had been too excited to sleep last night; the prospect of wearing his suit that makes him look just like Daddy and of spending the day with his beloved grandparents and aunts and uncles keeping him up past bedtime and waking him at the crack of dawn. A meltdown over cake accidentally spilled on his suit coat sent family remembers scrambling to appease him, and his father had swept in without a word to carry him off to the living room while Dorota worked on cleaning his coat.

Five minutes of quiet cuddling – a technique he employs on his wife during her moments of panic and stress – ended five minutes ago with the little boy fast asleep in his arms. Tiny lips parted with a soft snore; small fingers fisting the lapel of his coat as though to keep them tied together forever.

He could watch this scene for the rest of his life. And, in fact, he used to hoover over the sleeping child when he was an infant no longer than his forearm until his wife would slip her hand in his and pull him towards their bed with a witty quip about him no longer being fascinated with her bed.

Now, at four, bedtime has become a routine of bubble baths and story time. No more late night feedings where he stares openly and his wife pretends to be shocked at how immodest he is. No more rocking chairs; long ago replaced with a little boy who buries his face into his pillow and calls out in a muffled voice for them to turn on the nightlight. But the hugs and kisses they lavished on him continue and are returned in the sleepy movement of arms encircled around their necks and tight squeezes.

He lifts delicate fingers to his lips, kisses them gently as his eyes dart towards the pocket doors being pushed open. His wife – the woman who gives his life meaning and who commands the world he built and belongs to – smiles at the sight of them as her hand slides from her hipbones to drape across her body and her feet carry her across the room.

She moves little feet clad in black loafers off the seat next to him and places them back in her lap after she takes the seat beside him. She leans against his chest instinctively as his arm moves to drape across her shoulders, and she reaches out to sweep brown hair out of their little boy's eyes with gentle reverence.

"Man bangs," she whispers with a soft laugh, and he chuckles in response because no amount of product seems to keep his hair in check. "If he wasn't such a masterful schemer at four, I would worry he'd end up being just a pretty boy."

"He's a Waldorf-Bass. He'll have his cake and eat it, too."

"I think he already did," she retorts as she swipes her finger against the little boy's cheek gathering the drying icing around his lips.

She looks around for a place to dispose of the icing, but her husband snags her finger and brings it to his lips. He suckles gently; tongue swirling against her skin until she squirms beside him and he releases her finger. The wicked grin on his lips causes her to frown, to chastise him, but there is a teasing smirk under her words as she pretends to thwart his advances.

For a quiet moment, they sit side by side watching the steady rise and fall of their son's chest neither of them wanting to break the silence and suggest putting him to bed before rejoining the party. He is still such a marvel to his father; the kind of dream he was always afraid to have.

"How are you?"

The gentle question is without pretense and spoken without a playful tone. A genuine wrinkle of worry across his features that she reaches up to smooth away as though she would adjust his lapel or straighten his cravat.

"I'm good," she replies quietly. "My best friend – my sister – is delirious with happiness. How can I not be happy today?"

"And the distribution issue with China?"

The debacle has only added to her stress in her roles as mother and wife and businesswoman and hostess and matron of honor. The problem forcing her to rise early this morning leaving him to wake to a cold and empty bed. But she is a master at what she does, and the issue had been solved just in time to give her undivided attention to her guests. A fact she explains with a triumphant announcement that the samples she needs will be delivered by Monday before turning the question around and inquiring after his portion of the future they have built together.

"And the problems with Dubai?"

"Solved. I'm sorry I had to go into the office this morning, but the place looks amazing, Blair," he replies and then his voice drops even lower. The kind of breathy whisper that makes him sound awestruck and causes her heart to seize. "You're amazing."

She turns her head against his chest to look up at him; the praise combining with her happiness until her whole body glows as she leans up to press her lips against his. It is soft and gentle. The kind of kiss few who knew him in his playboy youth would ever think he would be capable of. But she knows him, knows the depths of how long and how hard he fought and struggled and learned to be the man he is today.

And when she breaks away; their foreheads press together in a quiet moment as her the cool metal of the ring around her finger presses against his cheek and the one around his finger trails up and down her arm. Her voice is a breathy whisper; her words a sentiment shared freely between them.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

The reply is a sleepy mumble from the lethargic little boy curled in his father's arms watching his parents through hooded eyes. His parents break away to look at him, to laugh softly at his drowsy awareness before they both lean down to press a kiss on either cheek. An action that causes the little boy to drape his arms around his parents' necks and squeeze tightly because the only family he has ever know is one that loves freely and openly and wholly.

In three weeks, when the honeymoon is over and Lily and Blair force Serena to finally sit down, browse through wedding proofs, and write her thank you notes, this moment will be captured between images of Serena shoving cake into Dan's face and the departure of the bride and groom to the airport on a red Vespa. All three women will move to pause the slideshow and stare at the image the photographer captured when she slipped out of the dining room to retrieve another lens without anyone noticing.

Pause to stare at the crinkles around Chuck's eyes as his apparent bliss spreads his smile into a wide grin, at the little boy's head tipped back in laughter over the kisses being lavished against his cheeks and neck, and at the way Blair's eyes sparkle brighter and more brilliantly than her dress or the rings on her finger. And Blair's free hand will press against her still flat belly as her other hand picks up the pen and marks the photograph for printing because, after all, it's not every day that a photographer captures the image of a family at the dawn of their journey from a family of three to four.


End file.
